Pursuit of Happiness
by Shelbey
Summary: Everyone had the right to be happy, didn't they? There was one person, though, that Wendy wasn't so sure about.


Wendy was alone. Stark's Pond was as beautiful and cold as she was, her cynicism almost at the breaking point after all the years of living in a place like South Park, where anything could and did happen and she had to learn to live with it. Accept it as normal, because for them, it really _was_ normal. She kicked a rock into the pond, glaring into the water, angry for no reason. Was it too much to ask for some semblance of normalcy and happiness?

As she started the trek home, in the woods, she heard someone crying. A matronly instinct over took her for a moment, and she headed in that direction, but her brain told her that was probably not the best idea. Wendy bit her lip, going against her better judgment and followed the heartbreaking noise into the woods, carefully stepping over clumps of grass and gnarled roots, getting closer to the noise as she went.

She came into a small clearing, the sunshine filtering through the clouds, lighting up the blue hat and red jacket of the one person she had come to despite more than anyone else in the entire town. But he was so sad, and she couldn't help but feel badly for him at that moment, not sure why he was upset and almost compelled to see what was wrong. "Cartman?" she asked, kneeling beside him and placing a hand on his back.

He jumped, startled, and then glared. "Oh, it's just you Testaburger. The fuck do you want?" Wendy immediately regretted attempting to help Cartman, but she was already there, and he seemed like he was legitimately upset, so she might as well stay.

"I just wanted to know what's wrong," she answered, trying to be pleasant and concerned, but she was sure it just sounded irritated. Because Cartman was irritating. "But I can leave then, if you want." She made to do just that, but he gripped her wrist, the pain in his face stopping her from being a sarcastic bitch to him.

He whispered, "I'm crazy." Wendy was surprised at the admission, wanting to say something snarky, but again she stopped herself. What was going on with her today? Usually Eric Cartman in pain was the highlight of that day, and she would talk about it to Stan and they would laugh until their sides hurt. It was all he deserved. He didn't deserve their pity or their sympathy, because no one would get any from them. "I went to the therapist because my social worker was worried about me, and he told me I'm crazy."

"What did he tell you, exactly?" she asked, morbidly curious as to what a professional had to say about him. Probably what she had already guessed a long time ago.

Eric whimpered, "Sociopath, multiple personalities, and some other stuff that I can't remember because I can't believe someone would say that I'm crazy. I'm not crazy!" Wendy wanted to tell him exactly why he _was_, but there was so much terror in his voice that she didn't have the heart. God dammit, girl, pull yourself together. You can't cater to this idiot, he has to know what's going on. Maybe he might even change for the better.

Gently, she pulled his hand from her wrist, doing her best to be supportive when she knew there would be no one else to do such a thing. Leann was dead and gone, Cartman had no friends that would be willing to put up with shit like this for him, and she couldn't leave him there all alone, crying his eyes out and worrying about the legitimacy of his sanity. "C'mon, Eric," she said with a sigh, tugging him to his feet by his hand, and out of the woods. He wiped his face off, as she asked, "Eric, that man was a professional, and if he says you've got something, then you probably do. The best you can do is work through it the way he asks."

Eric's hand squeezed tighter on hers as they walked through South Park, the stares of their classmates weighing on her, but she ignored them, taking him to her house. Wendy picked up a book on psychology she had for a class last year, reading to him a few passages of what those things meant, and how they could be helped. "Do you think I'm going to be okay?" he said quietly, biting on one of his nails nervously.

"Only if you try." She shrugged and closed the book, glad that her good Samaritan act was completed for the day. Cartman was silent, and she couldn't believe that somehow, she had gotten him to shut up for a minute and reflect on himself for once, instead of projecting his insecurities on others. For a moment, she watched him think, but as soon as she got up to put away her textbook, he was suddenly animated.

He asked her, standing up from the chair in her room, "Will you help me, Wendy? It would make me feel better. Happy, maybe." Wendy narrowed her eyes slightly, watching him carefully. Was this some sort of trick? That tone seemed like the one he only used on his people when he was sucking up to them. Was he really trying to get her to help him out of genuine concern for himself, or for some other ulterior motive that she just hadn't figured out yet?

Did people like Cartman deserve happiness the way everyone else did? He was a psychopath, a killer, a manipulator and a liar, someone to be hated and maybe even feared, but not to be loved, not to be happy. Wendy didn't know. And who was she to decide what Cartman was allowed to have in his life? She had no right. She could endure the throes of her own existence, determine how she would live and what kind of person she would be. It was all she could do as one insignificant part of this entire world.

"Fine." She didn't want to do it, but she couldn't stop herself.

She was there, for Cartman, like she promised she would be, as he battled through his psychosis, his multiple personality disorder, and even his obesity. Someone had to be. With his mother dead and Eric all alone in the world, someone needed to be there for him. She didn't know why she made herself stay. She owed nothing to Eric Cartman and he owed nothing to her. It was a confusing, aching battle in her chest as she debated between leaving him and staying, leaving him and staying, over and over again. As the days passed and she began to spend more time with Eric than her own boyfriend, Stan eventually left her alone.

It hurt, and she cried herself to sleep many nights, but she continued on, going to Eric's therapy with him, taking him to the gym with her, managing his schedule and his meals, helping him find constructive things to do with his time. It was exhausting, painful work for her, and though she called Stan many nights in a row, he did nothing but ignore her. But not once did she wonder if helping Cartman was worth it.

She sat outside of the therapist's room, tapping her fingers against her book as she waited for his session to be over. When he was released, the therapist took her aside for a moment. "What's the matter?" Wendy asked in surprise, leaving her book to Cartman's care as she waited inside the room.

"Are you the young man's girlfriend?" the man asked her, putting his glasses into his pocket and watching her carefully. She shook her head no, raising an eyebrow in confusion. "Well, my advice to you is to get away from him, he's only in therapy because he's a kid, instead of going to jail." That bit of information surprised Wendy. "He's unstable, young lady. He's killed people: his mother, the parents of his half brother, and God knows who else."

"He killed his mother?" Wendy gasped, putting a hand to her mouth.

"He can't handle having anyone close to him. My advice to you is to just let him go." Her jaw was lowered, and she couldn't stop staring at the man in shock and dismay, wondering how she had survived this long. Her heart was in her throat as she walked back out to Cartman, who was sitting in the chair, patiently waiting for her to come out of the office.

He asked, "What the hell did he want to tell you?"

"You're making progress," she fabricated quickly, trying not to fall to hysterics as he followed her out to her car. This was too much to put into an eighteen year old's shoulders. Way too much. Wendy couldn't even remember why she had agreed to help him in the first place, and while he sat in her car, singing along to the radio, all she could think about was that, at any moment, he could have a change of heart and kill her. Her arms were shaking, but he didn't notice, too into the song to notice much of anything at all.

She pulled up in front of his mother's house, unlocking the doors so he could get out and go home. As he unbuckled his seat belt, he said, "Thanks, Wendy. For everything." She nodded and he leaned over across the armrest between their seats and kissed her. It was sloppy and uncouth, and Wendy had a vague flashback of the first time they kissed, when she had been pent up with so much tension that she couldn't help herself. This time though, it was reversed, but she couldn't deny that she felt something there for him.

"Cartman," she started quietly, a hand to her mouth. God, what was she doing? She wanted to get Stan back, and here she was, swapping spit with Eric Cartman and she _liked _it. He got out of the car without another word and entered his house, leaving her there with her thoughts and the taste of him on her mouth. She picked up her phone and called Stan, and for the first time in months, he answered her call, sending her heart soaring. "I want to see you."

Stan made love to her in the backseat of her car, and it felt oh so good, and she told Stan that she loved him and wanted him back and to please, please consider it. By the next day at school, they were back together, and she couldn't quite look Eric in the eye as they passed him, hand in hand. What she had was no different than when they were kids. She had been spending way too much time with him, and it gave her feelings for him that weren't actually there. She loved Stan with all her heart, and the future, in her mind, was set for them.

But she couldn't help but remember, every now and then, the kiss that Cartman gave her that night in her car, and wondered if it meant anything at all to him. If he had put anything on the line for her just to steal that one kiss. Sometimes, she felt a twinge in her heart for him.

Everyone had the right to be happy, didn't they? Even Eric Cartman? She wasn't sure, but as Stan climbed into her bed beside her, she lost all thoughts of having any love for anyone else but the man in her arms.


End file.
